


Red Sky at Morning

by orphan_account



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Moon Godlike Watcher, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Rating May Change, Retelling, Spoilers, and the watcher has no time for it, some canon divergence, the gods are back on their bullshit, there is no way the watcher made it through this without some level of PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 00:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dhenayah had wanted to return home to the Deadfire from the very moment she'd escaped the slave ship that had wrecked on the Dyrwood's shores five years ago. In all her dreams of how she would go home, not one of them included chasing after a statue of luminous adra possessed by a god thought long dead.





	Red Sky at Morning

Silence.

A silence so deep it was near deafening, the kind that sunk deep into her very core, impossible to understand and fight against even if she had the mental capacity to even attempt such a thing. It permeated this place, accompanied only by a river of iridescent light that twisted and churned through an unfathomable void, interspersed with pinpricks of weak starlight that all at once seemed close enough to touch and impossibly far away.

This was the In-Between, she realized. The thought was not frightening – too much of herself was scattered to feel more than indifferent – it just simply was. In this place between life and death, she simply existed. There was no pain. There was no joy. All that existed in this place was silence and the shattered fragments of who she was. Or was it who she used to be?

The river of light beckoned. There was nothing else to do but follow wherever it may lead.

_You have been here before, _a voice said, clear as a bell. _Walk the path, Watcher. Your memories lie before you. Collect them._

She had the vague sense of a large tree filled with low hanging swollen purple fruit – no that wasn’t right. A warm chuckle pierced her thoughts. Not fruit – kith. A dwarf woman hanging from a dead tree in deep summer, her neck unnaturally stretched. Her lips did not move, but she spoke all the same.

_You have seen past the shroud. You are a Watcher now! And a Watcher you will stay. _

She remembered now. An unnatural storm, a large machine, a ritual not meant to be observed, a moment of curiosity that altered the course of her fate forever.

_A Watcher sees souls, _a much weaker and aged voice said. Defeated, lost, resigned. _Knows their pasts. And the souls see them back. _

There was an impression of an old man crouched in the corner, cradling his head in trembling hands gnarled by age. His clothes were worn by time, covered in stains and reeking of mildew.

Another piece slotted into place. She was more solid now, almost substantial. And yet something twisted inside; irritation her mind whispered. That’s was right; irritation at how much was missing. The river of light, once beautiful, felt almost mocking in how endless it seemed, twisting on into the void with no end in sight.

A third spoke now, this one much more familiar. _A dubious honor, inheriting a fortress both broken and cursed. _

She stood then in the courtyard of a crumbling fortress overrun with weeds and ruined buildings, abandoned by it’s previous caretaker and watched over by a guardian who could do nothing but see her pride and joy fall apart around her. The scene shifted; this time it was the same fortress but was how she had last seen it restored to its former glory. No, it was better than it had been in ages past. The Watcher smiled as she walked the grounds now teeming with life of both kith and growing things. The vision melted away.

An ancient room home to a massive machine watched over by large stone guardians. In the center, a man, tall and imposing in fine robes. She knew this person almost as well as she had known herself. Fear, regret, sadness, rage; all tangled in her breast as she looked upon Thaos.

W_hat IS a god, hm?_ He asked, his voice ringing with authority. _A higher power? A rewarder of good deeds and punisher of the wicked? _

A woman materialized at his side. Iovara, but as she had once been, not the shattered, worn, but still unbroken person she had been the last time the Watcher had seen her in another life long, long ago. _The gods aren’t real, _her sister said gently, _but something else entirely. Something created by kith just like us. _

Thaos’ lips twisted in an ugly snarl. _Did you ever consider that these were things you were never meant to understand? That their comprehension is beyond you? _

_But I wanted too, _her soul cried back, a voice long forgotten but still her own. _Together, you and I, like it was meant to be!_

The river was narrowing, its ethereal glow brightening as the flow twisted and churned faster now, flowing to a towering pillar of adra. In the backdrop of the surrounding void, its luminescence was almost blinding. The Watcher felt something tug deep within her, dragging her toward the light. She craned her neck back to the scene behind her, the memory wavering at the edges.

Iovara raised her chin high, defiance dancing in her eyes. _Let the world see. Let kith decide what to do. _

_The Wheel has turned again, Watcher. Come._

* * *

“Please sit, Dhenayah. We have much to discuss.”

The Pallid Knight gestured to the single chair across the table where she too sat. They were the only pieces of furniture in the otherwise barren room, lit by torches that flickered with unnatural purple flames. Her gaunt face was impassive as she waited, clad in massive time-worm armor that seemed to large for her skeletal frame.

“Thank you for joining us, Watcher of Caed Nua,” she said almost pleasantly. Her face barely moved as she spoke. Her attention was focused on the table between them, covered in cards in an arrangement known only to her. A thick deck of cards sat at her right. Time had no meaning here in the In-Between but even so it felt like a small eternity as the Pallid Knight changed the placement of some cards, altering the pattern. Each movement was deliberate, wasting no unnecessary energy; the void dark armor squeaking and groaning as she did so as if straining under a great weight.

She drew a single card and placed it in the center of the arrangement. With a short, satisfied nod, she pulled her hands back to fold them before her on the table, then raised her eyes to lock with Dhenayah’s.

“Mortals are not designed to withstand the raw essence of the gods,” she said matter of factly. “Your brush with divinity was no different. It has robbed you of your powers and scattered your memories. These here,” she waved a skeletal long-fingered hand over the assembled cards, “represent the courses of your life. Look upon them and remember who you are.”

Dhenayah dropped her gaze to the cards. They are perfect in their arrangement, side by side in straight rows. She leaned forward to get a closer look.

“You may touch them if you wish,” the Pallid Knight added, her gaze unwavering.

She did as she was bid; with each hesitant brush of her fingers, the memories slide into place like a key to a lock, each one making her that much more substantial. The images on the cards faded to nothing as she absorbed each memory. When her fingers touched the last card she shuddered and was suddenly perfectly solid as she had been in life.

Her brow furrowed she looked again at the now-blank cards, then back up to the hollow-faced woman.

“No, they are not complete,” she answered Dhenayah’s unasked question. “When Eothas consumed the majority of your soul, it robbed you much of your very self, including pieces of your memories. Fortunately, the solution to recovering them is entangled with the current matter at hand.

“As you may have already guessed, I am Berath. Or rather one half of Berath.” She pointed across the room to where the dwarf who had gently pulled her from the glowing adra pillar. He smiled brightly but otherwise remained silent.

The unwavering gaze of the Pallid Knight was like looking into the void itself. Dhenayah valiantly did try to maintain it – she would not be cowed by even a god - meet it but the twin pools of blackness were overwhelming; almost as if she were being drawn into oblivion. Berath either didn’t notice or just didn’t care. She suspected it to be the latter.

“Do you remember when we were last face to face?”

“The Hall of Stars in Twin Elms,” she answered without hesitation.

Berath inclined her head. “Correct. You came before us to pray for assistance in reaching Thaos where he cloistered himself in the Court of Penitents. Rather than pledge yourself to any of us, you braved it alone, rejecting the boons we offered in resolving the Hollowborn Crisis, then used the souls you recovered to strengthen the Dyrwood. Your refusal of our help irked several of us.”

“Yourself included?”

She shook her head no. “I would rather kith be sincere in their pledges, and you have never shown any interest in the gods. I find no fault in a pledge unmade, as it stands fairer in this court than a pledge broken.”

Her armor shrieked as she drew a single card from the waiting deck to place it on top of the spread between them; a bell tower with no bell. She tapped it twice with two fingers that creaked with the movement, before drawing back to their original folded state.

“Once before you sought the aid of the gods, even if you deigned to refuse it. Now it appears that _we_ have need of _you_.”

Dhenayah stares in shocked silence.

“Do you remember the statue of living adra below Caed Nua?”

“It was a likeness of Maros Nua, commissioned by his father Od Nua.”

“Correct. It is this statue that Eothas now possesses.”

“Eothas?” she said suddenly. “The god who possessed Waidwen and was blown up by the Godhammer? Ekera, I thought he was dead.”

Berath’s thin lips tilt in a small smile, but there is no humor in it. “Do you truly think the gods are so easily destroyed, let alone the god of rebirth? It was only a matter of time that he would return. But his ‘resurrection’ as it were has left many questions in his wake, his intentions most of all.”

Dhenayah propped her elbows on the table to rub at her temples. The onslaught of information was the seed of what she just knew was going to be a migraine of epic proportions. “I can see why this would be alarming, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“Patience, Watcher. I am getting to that.” Something tickled at the back of her mind, compelling her to look up at the waiting god. “It is no accident that Eothas chose the body he did; the living adra is perfused by the essence of thousands of souls – including your much of your own. It is by your own near indomitable will that you possessed the strength to survive the onslaught and enter the In-Between.” The briefest flicker of what almost looks like pride appeared in Berath’s eyes, so fast Dhenayah wondered if she imagined it. “This has left a connection between the two of you – one more significant due to your unique status as a Watcher – making you the most equipped to find him.”

“Find him? Ekera, there’s no way to miss a colossus of living adra wandering through the Dyrwood. And even if that were possible, I’m still dead.” She paused, frowning at Berath. “I am dead, yes?”

“Not quite,” the Pallid Knight replied. “But neither are you truly alive either. It is more accurate to say you are in a state of suspended animation. Your lungs still draw breath and your heart still beats within your chest, but your flesh is soulless as a Hollowborn.”

Dhenayah ran her hands through her hair in frustration, long nails scratching at the base of the horns that emerged from the back of her head to curve elegantly up and around to sharp points. “Until you return me that is.”

Berath nods once and drew another card, laying it on top of the previous one. Just as all the rest, the art is beautifully detailed, depicting souls flowing out of a pillar of adra.

“I hope you understand how difficult this is difficult to take in. But if what you say is true… Ekera. He’s destroyed my home and killed who knows how many people around it.” She dropped her head into her hands once more, squeezing her eyes shut against the rogue tears that threatened to fall.

“Three hundred and twenty-two, both from Caed Nua and your surrounding lands.” Berath’s tone remained even and matter of fact, devoid of any inflection that would indicate any sort of sorrow. “It is, after all, my business to know.” She tapped her fingers on the table again, encouraging the Watcher to look up.

“Their souls remain trapped within Eothas, unable to return to the Wheel as he siphons their essence to power his new body. But you, Watcher, you have the power to save them. Thus, I will give you a choice. Serve me as my herald and I will return you to your body. Refuse, and I will return you to the Wheel.”

The absurdity of the situation hits her like a ton of bricks, and suddenly she is laughing. It is not funny in the least, but its either laugh or dissolve into a mess of tears. Dhenayah leaned back in her chair to look at the ceiling. “You really know how to drive a hard bargain, I say. That is not much of a choice: pawn of the gods or death.”

Berath offered a one-shouldered shrug. “To you, perhaps. Most do not have the luxury of such a choice in the face of a crisis as this.”

Dhenayah snorted with derision. “Five years of peace, only to be summoned once more to do the bidding of the gods that I have never had an interest in. The very same gods who saw fit to ‘bless’ me in their image. It is as if you delight in making my life more difficult it needs to be, I say.”

Berath remained silent; the sockets of her eyes darken, leaving the pits of a death’s head gazing back at her.

The godlike closed her eyes and sighed heavily through her nose. “What would you have me do?”

“You will return to Eora as my herald,” an echo of command flavored Berath’s otherwise stoic tone. “You would do well to keep in mind that this is not a title given lightly. When the time comes, you will possess the power to reveal the souls who will cling to you and open the gateway of the In-Between and the waking world of kith. Find Eothas. Learn of his plans. When I have need to speak to you, I will summon you.”

The Pallid Knight flicked her wrist in a curious gesture. A sharp pain stabbed in what would have been Dhenayah’s chest, worming its way deeper into the core of herself. She glanced down to see a small ball of darkness roiling inside. There it lingers and as the pain abates so to does the ball dissipate until there was nothing left to indicate their existence in the first place.

“What was that?” Dhenayah snapped.

“A chime. There is nothing to fear, herald. It will not harm you, provided you do not choose to cross me.” Her smile turned razor-sharp as the pits of her eyes seem to deepen even further. “I trust it will not come to that.”

Turning to the waiting dwarf, she beckoned him with a gauntleted hand and returned her attention to the cards on the table in a clear dismissal. The dwarf smiled broadly at Dhenayah, ushering her through the new door that materialized on the far wall. Before she stepped over the threshold, she hesitated. Before she could turn around to speak her thought, the dwarf shook his head and gave her a gentle nudge –

* * *

And just like that she was shoved quite unceremoniously back into her body with a force that made her head spin. Her stomach lurched – in her haste to sit up she caught a glimpse of a familiar blond head before she doubled over the side of the bed and retched. There was nothing in her stomach save bile, which burned horribly as her body forcibly attempted to expel it.

“You’re awake,” Edér said, somewhat awestruck. “What are you doing awake?” She raised her head just enough to try and answer him before she was forced back down with another gut-clenching heave.

The mattress dipped as a warm body settled beside her, one hand pulling back the long white strands of her hair, the other sweeping up and down her back in soothing strokes.

“Easy there. Let it all out.” He’d changed his tone to the one he used when he was interacting with Eora’s fluffiest critters. It would have been hilarious had she not been otherwise occupied.

After her heaving subsided, she remained hunched over, elbows propped on her to support cradled her pounding head in her hands. The mattress creaked as Edér moved, then took one of her hands to pass her a waterskin. She took it gratefully, uncorking it to take a mouthful. She made a face as she swished it around; a brief glance around showed a lack of an appropriate vessel, and so leaned over the side to spit it out onto the wooden floor. It took two more swish and spits before she was satisfied.

“Ekera, that’s an experience I never want to repeat,” she said, her voice rough from disuse. Edér snorted.

“You’re tellin’ me. Me’n the stone lady over there were startin’ the think you were never gonna wake up.”

Dhenayah flopped back onto the bed with a groan. There wasn’t any part of her body that didn’t hurt. Questing fingers came up to rub at her temples in a vain attempt to ease the pounding in her head.

“I assure you, my lady, I maintained the utmost confidence in your recovery,” came a second voice, just as familiar as the first. She winced as she sat up, propping herself on her elbows to look at the Steward, the once-proud throne now reduced to a small bust, perched on the wall.

“How’re you feeling?” Edér asked.

“Sore, but alive. Better than the alternative, I say.”

“That might’ve been my fault. I, uh, got a little desperate in the last few days.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a rueful smile. “Been tryin’ to smack you awake, a little harder each time. Looks like I got a little carried away.”

Well, that explained one mystery. “Careful, farm boy. You almost sound like you might have missed me.”

“Naw. I just don’t feel like havin’ to break in another Watcher. Even if you do have a bad habit of dragging me along on the worst kind of vacations.”

Before she could reply the Steward made a sound as if clearing her throat. Both sets of eyes, - one blue, one silver - snapped to the bust above them. Dhenayah sobered immediately.

“While I am loathe to cast a pall over this welcome occasion, I am afraid I have some very bad news for you. Caed Nua… has been destroyed. Eothas has returned to Eora once more and has possessed the Statue of Maros Nua. When he rose from below, he consumed all the souls in the near vicinity of the fortress, including your own. It is only by the exceptional strength of your soul that you survived. And even then, just barely.”

The mattress dipped again as the farmer shifted before pulling a small matchbook from his pocket. With practiced ease he scraped the match on the bottom of his boot, bringing the small flame to the old pipe he held tightly in his teeth. The aroma of whiteleaf became much stronger as he took a deep puff, exhaling with a satisfied sigh. A warm hand settled on her shin.

“When he withdrew, your health rapidly declined,” the Steward continued. “We deduced that proximity to him would somehow be enough to bring you back, and so chartered a ship and followed him to the Deadfire Archipelago in an effort to keep you alive.”

“More like she did the thinking and made me do the heavy lifting,” he joked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Dhenayah made a note to badger him about it later. 

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on her. _Of course_, her return home after six odd years of being away was brought about not by her own choice, but by the ensemble of gods who just did not seem to want to leave her alone. _So much for being blessed by Ngati, _she thought grumpily. Whatever it was she was supposedly blessed with didn’t include any sort of good luck. But that was neither here nor there. “I know,” she replied, scrubbing a tired hand over her face.

Edér looked at her in surprise. “How could you know all that? You been fakin’ on us?” He jabbed at her leg with one finger.

Just then, the door across from the bed burst open slamming hard into the wall with a sharp crack. An elder man with a shock of white hair and wild, bloodshot eyes stumbled in, ale-sour breath so pungent Dhenayah could smell it from across the room.

“Misfortune’s brewing topside! We – Magran’s fires!” he yelped, scrubbing at his eyes with grubby hands. “the captain stirs!”

“Engrim, the smell of drink on your breath could wake the very dead!” the Steward snapped. “What’s this about?”

Engrim straightened. Taking a deep breath, “Pirate’s ma’am. They’re demanding parley with ye, captain.”

Edér swore under his breath. Turning to Dhenayah, “I know this is a lot to ask, what with you just waking up, but we’re going to need you on deck. We scrounged up some gear for you – hopefully, it’ll fit.” He jerked his thumb at the trunk at the end of the bed. “Be a good idea to arm yourself.”

Engrim took his leave, near tripping over his boots in haste, as Edér stood and held out a hand to help her up. He steadied her as she wobbled, only releasing her once she had her balance. He turned his back she noted with a smile as she stripped off the worn shirt light trousers in favor of the light mail shirt and much more sturdy leather trousers. Both were ill-fitting, but she managed to secure the belt she’d found tight enough to keep the trousers upright. The boots pinched her feet; already she was dreading the blisters that were sure to come later.

“Ready?”

“Not a bit,” she answered, picking up the quarterstaff that had been leaning against the wall. Edér stopped her before she could exit. The Dyrwooden reached into his boot to pull out the hidden dagger within and passed it to her hilt first.

“Just in case,” he said with a wink and ushered her outside.


End file.
